


One Night Only

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of five hundred and forty five single nights, the way it ended, and being left to live with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night Only

The last thing Martha Jones ever said to him still burns on his earlobe, tickling his brain from time to time as he travels to a thousand worlds and a hundred thousand times, searching for the impossible, a spot of tea, a decent pair of trainers to wear to the opera, and perhaps his lost true love.

“Thank you, Doctor. And fuck you.”

She hadn’t been like any of the others, before or after. He’d picked her up on a bit of a lark, trying to understand a world without Rose in it, without his friend Rose at his side, and Martha had been.

Martha had been quite the other thing, all curiosity and independence. She’d never needed him the way Rose needed him, and he’d never needed her the way he’d needed Rose. There had been not a single tear in her eye when he’d dropped her off, two days after he’d picked her up.

They’d spent eighteen months together, all told. Martha had never needed him for a minute of it, except how everyone had, to keep the world from ending. She was clever; she was clever and witty and the Triennial King of Urstag-16 had went on six of his ten knees to beg her to be his consort-goddess. In fact, he hadn’t been the only bloke to be mad for Martha; half the time, he’d had to beat them off with a stick.

That had, he remembered, even been literally true once.

Still, he never meant to keep her, and definitely never encouraged the way she’d brush up against him. Bump her knee against his. Wink at him while she was using some poor alien chap’s infatuation to gain them access to the necessary control panel. Lick her lips and wiggle her nose. Bite on her fingertip.

All right, so perhaps he’d understood why the boys (and girls and tentacle monsters) had wanted to shag Martha Jones.

He’d never asked how many succeeded, and she never said; for all he knew, she’d only touched him that entire time, though he still rather doubts it. At the end of every adventure, she kissed the kings and playwrights goodbye and rounded on him with a hungry smile, asking where she was going to take her with his magical box.

“Are you sure you still want to go?” he’d ask.

“You know you can take me anywhere, Doctor,” Martha would say with a laugh and a little shoulder-squaring. “So where shall you take me now?”

In the end, he’d taken her to a rundown space station for the really fantastic curry and chips, some sixteen thousand years in the future to watch kids space-skip solar flares, and she’d said to him, wearing ridiculous eye protection goggles, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do this, can’t watch kids ride solar flares, or can’t do this, travel in time and space and save the universe occasionally?” he’d asked, because playing dumb was the one thing guaranteed to make Martha call him a bit shite.

“The second one. Look, you know I love you, you know I know you’re not in love with me, you know I don’t care. So what is it? Is it that you’re so in love with Rose that you can’t even look at me? Or is it that you don’t want me?” she asked, frustration pouring out of her in a shudder. “You flirt with me, you drag me to the ends of the universe for fun, you buy me curry, you tell me not to sacrifice my life to prevent intergalactic war because you’d miss me…a girl gets some seriously mixed signals with you!”

He looked at her and blinked. Well. That was all fair enough. And he did owe her some kind of reason, he supposed. “It’s not something I do with my friends.”

“Well, we’re not friends anymore. I want you to take me home so I can be a doctor and find someone who can be in love with me and keep my dad’s girlfriend from running off with all his money and go on with my life,” Martha said, all the words appearing to rush out of her. “You didn’t mean to keep me for eighteen months, and I…you were a cute guy who could take me to meet Shakespeare. I didn’t want…I didn’t want this to eat my life.”

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, lips warm and eyes aching with something he guessed was regret. “I’ve had fun, but I can’t stay,” Martha whispered.

And she made to pull away them, and he knew Martha would walk to the TARDIS and wait until he took her home, and he expected she’d want to be put back at about the time she left, because Martha was precise about that sort of thing, and it was all too much, so he caught her face with his hand and pulled her in. and.

And. Well, he kissed her, didn’t he? Kissed her so that her mouth opened and her tongue slid against his and licked his teeth.

Her eyes were full of desire and love when he dared look at her, and her lips curved into a smile. “About time,” Martha murmured. “You can’t make me stay, though. Even if you’re great at snogging.”

“Who said I wanted you to stay?” he asked, tugging her closer and kissing her again. They were really both quite brilliant at it, come to that. She had a tricksy little way of licking and biting that he thought was delightful, and his hand was cleverly on her back where it could find its way under her shirt if she wanted.

“You did, about a hundred times,” Martha said, biting on his earlobe as her fingers walked up his arm. “Always for just one more night. Well, you get one more night, Doctor. So what ARE we going to do?”

This, of course, led to Martha bouncing to her feet, and from there to a merry chase that finished with him pinning her against the TARDIS for a long, hot kiss that ended with his tie quite off and her shirt half open and ragged breathing.

One more night. One last night.

It was always supposed to be one night only, anyway.

The rest of the night passed in moments.

Her dropped jeans as she fell back against the console, the feel of her bra under his hands.

His surprised moan when her fingernails dragged over him lightly, and that half-gasp when he knocked her back and slammed into her eagerly.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” she panted.

“I’m always a surprise, Miss Jones,” he answered, doing it again. Harder.

Martha screaming the first time she came, pulsing around him as though she’d break him. Not his name, not God, just, “Yes. Yes. Yes” her heart going like mad.

The incredibly hilarious and enjoyable sight of Martha’s legs thrown over his shoulders as he showed off the ways he could move his tongue due to his Gallifreyan heritage.

That had been quite fun: “To the left! Left, oh yes! Fuck, no, up, do that swirly thing again, the swirly thing, oh, that’s quite quite quite….ohhhh!” Martha had chanted, hips moving like crazy.

And finally, the feeling of shuddering as he came, in her deep, one of her hands on his shoulder, the other on his face as she whispered, “Yes. Come on, love, it’s now, I want you to.”

Laying against her, wondering how he’d held off eighteen months for this night. Them both stinking of sex and satisfaction and sweat and…something. Completion, somehow.

She was so warm, Martha was, slippery and relaxed.

“I don’t want you to go,” he’d said. “If you go, I’ll have to start thinking about the future.”

Martha sighed then, something that was a bit lost and yet somehow…as though she was humoring him, petting his hair and breathing, her one heart beating steadily under his ear.

“You get one night only, Mr. Smith,” she said, kind and heartless. “And you’ve had five hundred and forty five of them. It’s time. It’s past time, innit?”

“Is it dawn, then?” he asked, angling up for her lips, her lips that he’d wanted from the moment he’d seen her.

“Perhaps not…quite…yet,” Martha agreed, leaning up and meeting his kiss ardently.

Dawn, as it were, did come, and not long after, they were squabbling like children as the TARDIS rocked them about.

“I swear to you, if you try to drop me off two months after you picked me up, or in Antarctica, or something, I’ll have your bloody head!” she sassed at him, not in the least different for all that had happened last night. “I’ve got my first exam next week, so I want you be as precise as you and this old crate can manage, right?”

There was a reason one night had become over five hundred of them, and her endless taunting was high on the list. Besides, it always gave him a chance to tease her back, which he did by grinning.

“Paris all right, then?” he asked, and narrowly missed her shoe whizzing past his head.

They’d landed in the right space, and if not quite the right day…two days later, from what they could tell, what with the time rejiggering the defeat of Saxon had required…Martha’s exams were not in any danger of being missed.

“Well, Miss Jones, I hope you had a lovely time in my magic box,” he said, smiling brightly. “Any time you wish to, give me a ring and we must try it again.”

“Oh, bugger that,” Martha said. “Say goodbye to me properly, you bastard.”

He had, holding her in a long, long hug. “I love you, Miss Martha Jones,” he’d said. “We had fun, didn’t we?”

And she’d looked at him, smiled, and shook her head.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, mouth against his ear. “And fuck you.”

He was almost surprised.

Not quite, but almost.

And by the time he’d stopped being surprised, she was walking away, phone out for a cab.

It’s been three years now, and he’s had more than one friend aboard the TARDIS since, but when he landed in the neighborhood (well, Paris, but close enough, he decides), he knows that it’s time to see her.

To say something. Anything.

So he’s standing outside her hospital, waiting, and there she is, just off shift, chatting with her colleagues, running a hand through her hair.

Oh, Martha Jones. The irrepressible Martha Jones, who liked an adventure like no one else. He takes a deep breath. Crosses the street. Dodges a lorry or three, and when he gets to the kerb, he looks up to see her again.

Now that’s a bit of a shock. There’s a good-lookin’ fella giving Martha a peck on the cheek holding…holding…

Both of his hearts skip a beat. Martha takes the little one and gives him a kiss on the nose. He’s adorable. Big smile, big eyes, and here he is, standing in the middle of the path, not knowing what to do.

“Are you all right, sir?” someone asks, and he looks over to see a nice old dear patting him on the arm. “Cheer up, luvvie, it can’t be as bad as all that.”

“No, I suppose not,” he says, unable to look away from Martha and the bloke and the little one. “Now, look at them. Don’t they look happy?”

The old dear looks and pats his arm. “That they do,” she says. “Such a lovely family, and what a cute mum!”

She shuffles past him, and he’s left alone. Him, the Doctor, nine hundred years old and a bit, staring at the cute mum and wee baby with his mouth hanging open like a boob.

Quite the other thing, Martha Jones. Quite.

 


End file.
